Winning Isn't Everything
by BadLuckIsMyThing
Summary: What happened to Haymitch right after he won the 50th Hunger Games? How'd he react to his family being killed? When did he start drinking? My thoughts on all of this and more. R
1. Lying

_You can do this_, I tell myself as I step out onto the stage. Immediately, the roar of the crowd becomes deafening, and the flashing lights leave me blinded. I plaster a smile on my face for the cameras and the audience gets even louder.

I make my way towards the center of the stage where Caesar Flickerman sits across from an empty chair. I sit down and we shake hands, exchanging pleasantries for a moment before settling back in our cushy seats.

I realize I'm shaking and all of a sudden the nervousness hits me. My mentor, Griffin, had told me exactly how much is riding on this interview. My life. My family's lives. Ever since my little trick with the axe and the force field had happened, I'd had to be very cautious. President Snow and the rest of the Gamemakers apparently were not very happy with me for using their own arena against them. It made them look foolish, weak. So now Snow wants me to convince all of Panem that what I did was just a last, desperate attempt to stay alive and not in any way a rebellious act. If I do, after this final Victor's interview with Caesar I'll get to go home. If not, well…I don't want to think about that.

"So, Haymitch," Caesar begins, once the roar of the audience has died down. "How've things been since you won the Hunger Games?"

"Well, everything's certainly been different than what I'm used to," I manage to reply, though I want to say something much nastier. Griffin told me to be polite.

Caesar laughs. "Well, I would imagine!" he says. I playfully laugh along with him, trying to ignore the feeling of dread creeping up on me.

"So, how do you feel knowing you'll be boarding the train to go back to District 12 tomorrow morning?" Caesar asks.

"I'm very excited. I've been getting kind of homesick lately," I say. Which is the truth, but not all of it.

We spend the next several minutes chatting lightheartedly. I'm trying desperately not to say anything sarcastic or rude, which, of course, being me, is just about impossible.

All too soon it's over and they're dimming the lights to show the recap of my Games. I'm doing okay until it shows Maysilee's death. I have to dig my fingers into my armrests and grit my teeth to keep from screaming aloud. The moment passes, however, and I try to relax as the film continues.

I tense up as it reaches the finale. It shows me and the other tribute's big fight, me desperately crawling towards the force field, and finally, the axe embedding itself in my competitor's forehead. I'm surprised they didn't edit out me using the force field, although I suppose they couldn't, seeing as how that was what ended the Games. A loud applause follows the video and I force myself to smile, to keep the emotions I'm really feeling buried. I've gotten good at that over the past few weeks.

When the claps and cheers die down Caesar turns to me. "That was quite an impressive victory," he compliments.

"Thank you. It was a difficult one for sure." I respond honestly.

Caesar smiles at me and then gets a more serious expression, and I tense up, knowing what he's about to say.

"Since the end of your Games, there's been one thing that's been on everybody's mind. What were you thinking when your opponent's own axe ended up killing her, causing you to win?" Caesar asks, leaning in closer to make sure he hears me.

"I was…shocked, to say the least," is my reply.

I wince; Snow won't accept that. He knows fully well that axe coming back over the cliff was my intent. I rush to add on to my answer.

"It was definitely surprising, but it kept me alive, so I thought hey, why not? The axe killing the District 1 girl was just some pretty good luck. I can't stay I regret it happening. Although I would've won even if it hadn't," I finish arrogantly. Caesar and the audience laugh appreciatively.

The rest of the interview flies by, with me still holding my tongue and being painfully polite, and Caesar asking safe, easy to answer questions. Pretty soon I'm being swept off the stage and surrounded by the excited chatter of my prep team; Orinia, Fuchsia, and Cassius.

"You were just _amazing_ out there!" gushes Orinia, her turquoise-spiked head nodding wildly. "People could barely tell you'd grown up poor and filthy!"

I roll my eyes as Cassius straightens my tie, grinning with his silver, metallic looking lips. "And that grimy District 12 look of yours? All but gone!" he chirps happily.

Suffice to say my prep team isn't big on District 12. I have a snappy retort on the tip of my tongue when I see Griffin-my middle-aged, arrogant, and obnoxious mentor-coming towards us, looking angry. I frown and turn to my prep team.

"Hey, I'll see you guys later, all right?" I say.

"Okay, Haymitch!" Orinia and Cassius squeal, scurrying off. Fuchsia, however, remains, and gives me a once-over, raising her eyebrows at me. I know she senses my distress, and I quickly shake my head. She gives my a look that says, "_Are you sure?" _before I nod my head and she hurries away.

Griffin reaches me at this point and I turn to face him. "What?" I demand.

"That was terrible, kid," he replies nonchalantly. I pull back as though I've been slapped in the face.

"What?" I demand again, this time a bit confused as well.

Griffin simply looks at me for a moment before saying, "Come on," turning, and striding abruptly in the opposite direction. I hurry to catch up with him and we don't speak one more word to each other as we get in a car, reporters swarming everywhere, drive to the Training Center, and take the elevator all the way up back to District 12's floor.

Griffin plops down onto the couch in the front of the TV, and I follow suit, taking a seat as far away from him as possible. He switches the television on and instantly my interview appears. We're still watching the recap, though it's coming to the end.

"Why-" I begin, but Griffin loudly shushes me before pointing to the screen again. Caesar has just asked his question about the force field, and I'm answering. I still don't see what the big deal is. I appear witty and confident, just like I always do. My answer is smooth and clearly spoken. My appearance is fine too; not a single strand of curly black hair out of place. I can't understand what Griffin is freaking out about.

I turn and see my mentor looking expectantly at me. "What is your deal?" I finally ask angrily. "I did perfectly! All I needed to do was convince Snow, and I did."

He smirks haughtily at me. "No you didn't."

"What are you talking about?" I ask bitterly.

"Look, _Haymitch_," he sneers my name. "Sure, you may have convinced the rest of Panem that you using the Capitol's force field wasn't a big deal, but you haven't convinced me—or the Gamemakers, for that matter. Trust me; you won't be forgiven for it, ever. Plus," he smirks. "I can easily tell when you're lying. You get this...look in your eye," he stands up and starts to head towards his bedroom. He's almost at the doorway when I shout out after him.

"I'll be fine! And why does it even matter that you can tell I'm lying anyway?"

Griffin slowly turns around, faces me, and with a dead serious voice, says "Because, if I can, President Snow can. And you pretending that your use of the force field was innocent? That was a lie."

Then he turns and slams his door shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


	2. Punishment

I wake up in the morning, not well-rested in the slightest due to my nightmares, which were worse than usual last night. After showering and getting dressed, I head out of my bedroom to the dining room to eat breakfast. Once there I see I'm the last to arrive. Griffin and my stylist Vinnus already have full plates, along with District 12's escort, Veronia.

"Ah, good! You're finally up, Haymitch." Veronia says while carefully stirring her coffee. I snort at her ridiculous outfit that consists entirely of neon orange, which clashes awfully with her short green hair. Though Veronia's never been anything but nice to me, I always have a fun time mentally picking on her outfit choices. "We were just discussing the Victory Tour."

I grimace. I had forgotten about the Victory Tour.

"Oh, it'll be fine," says Vinnus. He smooths his midnight blue hair and smiles. "You'll get to meet other Victors and maybe make some friends."

The thought makes me grin. Me, making friends? Yeah right. I couldn't even do that with normal kids in my own District, let alone Victors across the country. I push that thought away and sit down to eat, heaping my plate with all the rich Capitol food I can.

"So what time are we leaving for District 12?" I ask as I bite into a muffin, my sense of excitement growing at that prospect of going home soon.

"Around two this afternoon." Veronia replies.

"Two? Don't they usually have them leave at noon?" Griffin butts in.

"Yes, but Haymitch has a meeting with President Snow, so they had to bump the time up," Vinnus says casually, taking a sip of hot cocoa.

Griffin and I both freeze and look at each other. A meeting with President Snow? Nothing good can come out of that. What does he have to talk with me about that is so important they had to change the train schedule to fit it in?

I'm pretty sure I know; I just refuse to admit the truth to myself.

.

Three hours later, I'm in a small downtown Capitol café with two armed Peacekeepers at my sides. I'm not sure exactly why we're here. Capitol citizens bustle about inside and outside the restaurant, chatting happily about the latest fashions. Waiters serve coffee and rolls. Cars driving by honk their horns loudly, making me flinch.

I'm about to ask one of my "guards" what's going on when I see him. President Snow himself is seated in a booth across the shop, staring at me with his snake eyes. I swallow nervously and head towards him. He smiles as I approach.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Abernathy," Snow says as I slide into the booth across from him, almost gagging at the overwhelming blood and rose stench.

"Good afternoon, sir," I manage to get out. My guards are still standing there, looking unsure of themselves. Snow gestures to the door.

"But Mr. President-" one of them begins.

"Yes?" Snow asks dangerously. They audibly swallow before briskly turning and leaving the café.

"Such bothersome people, those Peacekeepers. Always undermining my authority, making me look weak. My being made look weak could become a problem, couldn't it, Mr. Abernathy?" Snow says while casually flipping through the menu.

I gulp. "Yes, it could, sir."

"Especially," Snow slaps his menu down on the table harder than necessary. "When it is on national television, and by a mere _child_." He hisses the last word.

I try to speak, but the words won't come. There's nothing to say. He knows I was lying in my interview about being unaware of the force field. Denying it will only anger him more.

A waiter appears at this point, and looks flustered when he realizes who it is he's serving. "I'll have a coffee." Snow says icily, not even bothering to glance at our server. His gaze is still fixed on me. I stammer something about hot cocoa before the waiter scurries away, no doubt to gossip about the President and a victor in the restaurant.

A few tense, silent moments pass before Snow speaks again. "Now, Mr. Abernathy. I expect you know I am not an easy man to fool. I have kept the whole of Panem running smoothly for a while now, and am not about to let an ignorant District boy ruin it for me."

"I wasn't trying to-" I begin, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"Therefore, I have decided that to keep you from disrespecting me again, you are in need of punishment."

"Punishment?" I ask, frightened. Snow nods, his lips curling into an ominous grin just as the waiter appears with our drinks. Snow sips his coffee while I just let my cocoa sit there, too shaken to take a drink.

"Punishment?" I repeat after several silent minutes. He merely sets his mug down and stares at me. "Drink," he orders, gesturing to my untouched beverage. I obediently swallow some of the sweet liquid, all the while wondering exactly what he wants from me.

Snow waits until I've finished almost all of it before he breaks the silence. "You see, you using the force field to—shall we say, _eliminate_ your fellow tribute—has caused many questions to arise. Questions that are…dangerous for myself and Seneca Crane's careers. Do you understand what I mean, Mr. Abernathy?"

I consider lying, then decide against it, quickly shaking my head no. "I see," says Snow. I detect something—disappointment, maybe?—in his tone. "Let me enlighten you, in that case. While some of the more…dim-witted Capitol citizens admire your quick thinking, there are those here who think your victory was unfair. That you using a force field in the arena to win was, well—cheating, to state it bluntly."

"Cheating? I wasn't cheating!" I cry defensively. Many sets of eyes turn my way at the outburst, and I lower my voice. "That was just strategy."

"Even though I truly believe you, Mr. Abernathy, my opinion on the subject is irrelevant. You know what the Hunger Games are all about?" he asks. I shake my head. "_Show_. The interviews, the costumes, the tribute parades; they're all about entertaining the people, about show. If the audience isn't interested, why even bother with any of it?"

I rub my temple in confusion. "Sir, I don't understand. None of this has anything to do with me cheating."

"Ah, but it has everything to do with you cheating," he says softly, looking out the window at the bustling street. I raise an eyebrow. Snow just sighs and stands up.

"Well, Mr. Abernathy, I'm glad we had this little chat. I suppose I'll see you sometime in the near future," he gives me a gruesome smile and starts to step away before pausing and slightly turning to face me. "And by the way, you have a…surprise waiting for you in District 12."

With that, President Snow walks out of the small café, leaving me alone. I sit there for a moment, clearing my thoughts, before leaving as well.

The meeting didn't help at all; I am more confused than ever.


	3. Missing

The jolting movements of the train do nothing to ease my nervousness. I stand at the train's sitting room window, watching the landscape flash by, attempting to calm myself. It doesn't work. I sigh loudly in exasperation just as Griffin walks in.

"Someone's in a mood, today, aren't they?" he asks in a condescending tone, flopping unceremoniously down on the couch. I don't answer; just continue to stare stonily out the rain-flecked window. Griffin laughs. "Can't ignore me forever, kid."

As much as I'd like to be able to, unfortunately, he's right. I'll have to talk to my mentor again at some point. I frown, remembering why I'm mad at him in the first place.

_I knocked softly on_ _Griffin's bedroom door. "Come in," a gruff voice responded from the other side. I stepped into the room and was met with an irritated gaze. _

_"What do you want, Haymitch?" snapped Griffin from his spot on the bed. _

_"I need your help." I said weakly. He simply looked at me for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. I heard him mutter something about "just can't catch a break" before he patted the spot on the bed next to him. I sat down._

_ "What do you want?" Griffin repeated. I told him everything that'd happened during my meeting with Snow. His face betrayed no emotion; I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing._

_ I finished my story and gazed expectantly at him. When he didn't respond immediately, I got fed up. _

_"Well?" I said harshly. _

_"Well, what?" Griffin picked at a loose thread on his blanket, not appearing to care in the slightest about what I'd just said. _

_"Well, what should I do?" I snarled._

_ Griffin shrugged. "I don't know, and quite frankly, I don't care." I'd just stared in open-mouthed shock at him for several moments before I got myself together. _

_"What do you mean, you DON'T CARE?" I demanded. "You're my mentor! You're supposed to help me with things like this! Snow could kill me, and you have nothing to say about it?!" _

_Griffin just laughed. "Kid, you're a victor now. Take care of your own problems." And with that, he'd stood up and walked out of the room without a backwards glance._

So much for being on my side. Ever since I'd won the Games, Griffin seems to have decided I'm not worth the time and effort to help. He's too selfish and full of it to care anymore.

I think about all of this in a rage-filled silence as I watch the raindrops patter against the window. I guess I'm on my own.

...

Veronia pops her head into the sitting room. "We're here!" she announces, then scampers off to who-knows-where, her high heels clacking loudly. I jump up and scramble to the window. Griffin smirks.

"Cool it down, kid," he says in the patronizing tone I've grown to get used to. I throw him a quick glare before turning my attention back to the scene outside. I can't believe it. We're finally back in District 12, the poor, disgusting little district filled with starving people and coal dust; patched up old clothes; dark, dank mines and adults just trying to make a living.

I love it here.

Through the window, I see we've arrived at the train station. A small group of familiar faces is gathered outside, though I can't find my mom or my nine year old brother Wester. I assure myself they're just behind some people, though as far as I can tell, I can see everyone. I think maybe they didn't come, but there's no reason why they wouldn't…

I shake my head to clear my confused thoughts and head towards the train exit. Griffin follows closely behind. An Avox rushes to get the door for me, and I gratefully step through it, into District 12's train station.

I am immediately blinded by the bright, flashing lights of the paparazzi's cameras. Shouts and questions can be heard coming from all around. I don't answer them; instead I give a big fake smile and wave, which makes them go nuts.

I can feel someone take me by the arm and begin guiding me along, pushing past Capitol reporters and taking me towards the crowd, where I am enveloped in hugs instantaneously. Due to the flashing lights, I can only vaguely make out faces, but I have enough of my sight to know nobody in my family is hugging me. I see my friends Carr and Rilus, my neighbors, one of my mom's friends, Phyllis; so many people I can't keep track. But my mom and Wester are nowhere in sight, and neither is my girlfriend of nine months, Aster.

The blinding lights and congratulations continue for many more minutes, but I can't focus on them now. I keep craning my neck, hoping to see a mother and young boy from the Seam, or maybe a flash of pale blonde hair and blue eyes, but none comes. I just grit my teeth and keep smiling, keep pretending fear isn't creeping up inside of me. And finally, _finally_, after what seems like forever, Griffin (who's been the one pulling me along) roughly yanks my arm and I break free of the crowd. "Move it, kid," he hisses in my ear, and I obey. We run until we lose the reporters in an alley between stores, then collapse against a wall and catch our breaths.

"All right, you know where Victor's Village is, right?" Griffin asks after we can breathe again. I nod.

"Why?" I ask. "I'm moving in there already?"

"Your stuff was packed up and sent to your house yesterday," he replies.

We hang out for a while longer in our hiding place, avoiding the Capitol crews, before I head out to my new "home". The walk is long and unfamiliar, the pavement smooth beneath my feet as opposed to the rough Seam dirt I'm used to.

I reach Victor's Village, where I'm met by tons more paparazzi, along with Veronia, who scolds me for "running off". They do tons of camera segments on my homecoming before Veronia grabs my wrist and leads me up the front steps into the house.

The place is a palace. Big rooms, nice furniture, 24/7 electricity. I'm awed by it all, but something seems off. Veronia leads me around, cameras capturing my every reaction. I'm particularly impressed by my giant bedroom. The kitchen's full fridge is certainly a perk too.

The feeling of wrongness doesn't go away, however, and when we enter one of the empty bedrooms, I realize why. The place is untouched. Nobody's lived here yet, never even been inside, more than likely. There's not a slight sign of life.

"Veronia?" I ask. "Is my family still living in my old house?"

"No," she says nonchalantly. "They moved here a few days ago."

I look around, and my heart stops. They haven't been living here, and they haven't been living in my old house. They didn't visit me at the train station. Veronia doesn't know where they are, and Griffin didn't seem to know a thing about it either.

My family is missing.


	4. Murdered

**A/N: Sorry this update took such a long time. It took me quite a while to finish this chapter; as it's longer than the others. I'll try to have the next one up soon, and I hope you enjoy! –Firestone 4**

I am startled at my revelation. So startled that I just stand there staring at nothing for I don't know how long, Veronia impatiently saying my name and waving her hands in front of my face.

Eventually I snap back to reality and look around. I see that everyone is now staring at me, and I panic.

"I-I have to…go," I say, running out of the room, out of the house, before anyone can even react. I hear cries of alarm, but I keep pushing my feet forward, trying in vain to leave it all behind me.

I'm not really sure where I'm going until I feel the soft, worn dirt beneath me and smell the coal dust in the air; I've unconsciously run back to the Seam. I stop to rest for a moment, the alarmed shouts now far off in the distance. I know what I have to do now.

The route is a familiar one. As I jog, I pass well-known faces, some of whom say quiet hellos, others who try to avoid eye contact altogether. The latter doesn't bother me; I'd probably do the same thing in their shoes.

I keep running, taking in the sights, smells, sounds of the area surrounding me. It's surreal; places like this, with its wildlife and nature, can exist not very far away from the Capitol, with its buildings and lack of plants altogether. They seem like they're from different worlds. I, personally, much prefer District 12.

After ten minutes or so, I finally reach my destination: my old Seam home, in all its glory; cracked sidewalk, sagging porch steps, peeling paint, broken shingles. I take in the sight of it, amazed that two months ago this was all I'd ever known.

I push open the front door, letting it slam shut behind me as I step inside, relishing in the feeling of being home.

The faint smell of my mother's homemade soap lingers in the air, and a bit of dull sunlight seeps in through the dusty window blinds. Wester's small, patched bear lies forlornly on the living room floor, and I pick it up, twirling a loose thread between my fingers.

"Hello?" I call out, desperately hoping I'll see my mother sweep into the room with a plate of my favorite fruit, apples, and hear my little brother's innocent laugh.

But neither of those things happen. I toss Wester's bear onto the faded couch as I head into the kitchen and root around, to find no sign of anyone having been there. I repeat the same process with the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the small dining room we never use, continually calling out loud hellos. But no matter how many times I try to convince myself I'm wrong, there's nobody there, and there hasn't been for at least a day as far as I can tell. The fridge contains only a small slice of meat, and I know my mom well enough to know she would always keep Wester well fed. The bathtub doesn't have a single drop of water in it. The TV is coated in a thin layer of dust; they would have been watching it had they been here; the Games and interviews are mandatory viewing.

But despite all of this evidence, only one small thing sticks out in my mind, proves my suspicions correct: Wester's report card lies on the kitchen floor. It must've slipped from one of the refrigerator magnets, slid onto the ground. Had most people found something like that, it'd have meant nothing. But to me, it meant something was _horribly_ wrong.

My mother had always pushed us to do our best in school. If Wester and I didn't get above a C, we'd get lectures and scoldings; grades were incredibly important to her. Because of that, any time we'd get a particularly good grade, she'd hang the paper up on the fridge and brag about it to any visitors. Several times I'd tried to take mine down out of embarrassment, and she'd slapped my hand and told me it was staying up there.

Looking at Wester's report card, I see that for the first time, Wester has gotten straight A's. Mom would_ never_ let that go unseen. If it fell to the floor, she would immediately pick it up and put it back where it belonged. But this time she didn't.

And that's how I know my family is dead. Snow killed them.

The moment I think those sentences, I snap. I fall down on the ground and scream, cry, pound my fists against the rough wooden floor. I shriek and yell and curse at the Capitol, at Snow for doing this to me. I holler until my throat is raw and I'm just lying there panting silently. Everything is a blur and I can't feel the blood flowing down my hands from splinters, can't feel the burning hoarseness in my throat. All I can feel is the pain and loss from my family's deaths.

No, not deaths. Murders.

I hiss the word between my teeth, and suddenly my hatred for the Capitol grows immensely. I begin screaming again, and continue until I fall into a deep, exhausted sleep.

0.0.0

I wake in a big, unfamiliar bed, wearing different clothes than the ones I'd had on. I have no idea where I am or what's happened. All I can register is a sharp pain in my throat.

I try to sit up and am immediately hit with a major headache. I moan, and then wince, finding the noise hurts my throat. "Easy, kid," I hear a voice say to my left, and I turn to see Griffin sitting in a chair by the bed.

"It hurts," I croak. He nods.

"You messed your vocal chords up pretty bad with all that screaming."

Screaming? I draw my eyebrows together in confusion. He just gazes knowingly at me. I'm about to ask why I was screaming when suddenly the memory hits me. My family. My mom, Wester. Dead.

I hear a weird noise come from me; something between a choke and a sob. It gets louder, and I start trying to untangle my legs from the bed sheets and get up. I don't even know what I want; I just know I've got to leave this room, wherever it is. Griffin stands up calmly and pins me onto the bed by my wrists.

"Let…me…go!" I struggle to get free.

"Phyllis," he calls coolly, exerting no effort whatsoever holding me down. I keep crying out, kicking, trying to be released—to no avail. A moment later, Phyllis Lockston—a woman I recognize as an old friend of my mother's—enters the room with a needle. "What? No! NO!" I screech as she sticks the needle into my arm. I start thrashing, but am forced to go limp only a moment later when the blackness overwhelms me and I fall unconscious.

0.0.0

This happens several times more; me waking up, struggling to get free, only to be knocked out by whatever drug is in that needle.

Finally, I wake up to find myself alone in the room. No Griffin, Phyllis, or anybody else. I cautiously sit up and am satisfied when I don't feel a pounding in my head. My throat still hurts, though it isn't nearly as bad as before.

But memories are hazy for me and I can tell that I've been asleep for quite a while. I do, however, remember that my family is dead.

At this thought I have to bite my tongue and take a deep breath to calm myself. The pain doesn't go away, but it certainly helps keep me sane. I head towards the room's door and hesitate at the knob before mentally scolding myself. _What do you have to be afraid of anymore? _I think, and boldly fling the door open. I step into the long, plush-carpeted hallway and realize that I'm in my Victor's Village house. I've been in one of the guest bedrooms all this time.

I hear voices coming from the floor below me, and footsteps, as somebody shuffles around. I pause and listen, and I hear a gruff male voice saying something I can't make out. My feet unconsciously move towards the stairs and I head down them. I enter the kitchen to find Phyllis making breakfast and Griffin with his feet propped up on the kitchen table. Savera, Phyllis's seventeen year old daughter, stands in the corner, staring in disgust at Griffin. He just grins at her and picks his fingernails.

"So, you finally decided to get up?" asks my mentor. I scowl at him.

"Well, I would've gotten up sooner, had _somebody_ not continued to knock me out," I turn my glare to Phyllis, who just shrugs casually.

"You needed time to calm down and process things," Phyllis says, and I remember she's a healer. Right. She knows what she's doing.

"Processing my family's…" I trail off, swallowing painfully. Griffin looks at me with pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Haymitch," he says sincerely, which is new for him. Phyllis gives me a concerned look, while Savera appears bored and uninterested, playing with her long black hair.

I can feel the grief beginning to creep into my mind, and I quickly ask, "How long have I been out?"

"A little over a day," Griffin replies. "The press is going crazy wondering what happened to the newest victor," he points the window, where I can see flashes of camera lights coming from behind the closed curtain. I sigh. _That_ ought to be fun to deal with.

I pause for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "I haven't been home for very long. I'd like to take a walk around the district, you know, reacquaint myself. Would that be okay, if I snuck out the back?"

Phyllis begins to shake her head, and I hurriedly tack on, "I'll be careful. The reporters won't see me, I promise." I can see it's not working, and try one last desperate attempt: "Please?"

Phyllis and Griffin share a quick glance before Phyllis turns to me and hesitantly replies, "Well…okay, but be careful. Don't let anyone from the Capitol see you, all right? And come back here soon. Don't be out too long."

I nod eagerly before jumping up and heading—a little too quickly—for the back door. I slip out and sneak successfully past the reporters, heading for the merchant part of town.

What I'd tried to pass off as an innocent walk was actually a mission. I needed to see my girlfriend, Aster. She was the only person I could truly confide in, could tell all of my secrets to. I just _had_ to talk to her; I hadn't seen her since before the Games.

If I told Phyllis this, she probably would have said I could talk to Aster later and knocked me out again. So I lied, pretending I wanted to familiarize myself with District 12 again, as if I really needed to. Please.

I reach the merchant part of District 12, where I luckily don't find any cameramen or reporters waiting to ambush me. I jog past the butcher's, the bakery, and the outdoor market before I finally arrive at my destination: the florist's shop, which Aster's mom, Mrs. Bellwood, owns and works at. I push the door open, and a little bell jingles, announcing my arrival.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of myself, before I see Mrs. Bellwood headed towards me. "Hello, how may I help you today—" she begins, but suddenly her face pales. She backs away until she is seven or eight feet away from me and clutches a nearby table so hard her knuckles turn white.

"You—you're—but—" Mrs. Bellwood stutters, struggling for breath.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" I ask, bewildered. I reach out to help her.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieks. I don't understand what's going on. Aster's family has always adored me, never been upset in the slightest that I was dating Aster. This kind of thing has never happened.

"Ma'am, I don't…" I trail off helplessly, just as Aster's older sister, Dalea, comes running from somewhere in the shop. "Mom!" she cries out, and rushes forward to help her mother, who is now looking at me like I'm a monster. Dalea sees me and sets her jaw. "YOU," she seethes. "Get…out…NOW!"

I simply stare at her, uncomprehending. "Get out!" she yells again. "And don't EVER come back!"

"But …WHY?" I finally squeak.

Dalea's eyes widen in fury. She seems to be debating internally whether or not to respond for a moment before she clenches her jaw and comes to a decision. "You killed Aster!" she screams, then starts hitting me, kicking me, punching me.

My brain finally sends the message to my legs to run, to get out of this place, this confusing mess. I push Dalea off me easily, dart out of the store, and run down the street as fast as I can, never looking back.


	5. Visitor

I keep running, pushing my feet faster and faster until I reach Victor's Village. I burst through my front door and collapse into a sobbing heap on the couch as a wave of grief washes over me.

Aster. Sweet, kind, fearless Aster is dead, all because of me. This thought replays over and over in my mind, bringing with it a fresh batch of tears. And if that's not enough, her family hates me for it. Her mother is terrified and her sister tried to beat me up. I can only imagine how her father will react when he sees me again.

I feel soothing hands on my arms, my back. Hushed voices trying to calm me. Comforting words that I don't deserve.

None of it does anything. Every time I start to feel just a bit better, my thoughts remind me that I'm all alone. I killed everybody I loved; my mom, my brother, my girlfriend. My body is wracked with sobs, and I can't seem to get a breath. I think of that final interview with Caesar Flickerman. It seems like such a long time ago, when in reality, it hasn't even been a week. How could I have been so naïve? How could I have thought it would be so simple: convince Snow I'm innocent, come home, see my family and live happily ever after? That can't be further from the truth. No, I ruined everything with that stupid axe trick.

Tears pour from my eyes, surely staining the couch, but I can't find it in myself to care about it—or anything, frankly—anymore. I just let out all pent up emotions from the last month spill out, not bothering to hold back anything. Every time it seems I've run out of tears, another gush of them flow from my eyes.

Finally, after who knows how long, I've exhausted myself, and I quickly fall into a nightmare-plagued sleep as Phyllis whispers soothing words in my ear.

.0.0.0

Everything changes after that day. People look at me differently. Whenever I go out (which is very rarely), I hear whispers about "_there's the one that the Bellwoods don't like_" and "_that poor girl's family_". I get pointed at and am shot different looks, some of anger, some of pity. Eventually I can't take it anymore and just stop leaving my house altogether.

I constantly feel empty and broken after that day at the florist's shop. I have no family, no friends left. My best friends, Carr and Rilus, don't ever visit me anymore, nor do other people I thought cared about me. They've forgotten I exist. Some days I'll just lie there in bed and wish I'd never been born. It would be better that way; at least I wouldn't cause all this grief to myself and the Bellwoods. If it were up to me, I wouldn't ever move. I would just sit there and wither away as I slowly starve to death to save everyone the trouble. But it's not up to me; it's up to Phyllis Lockston.

Phyllis watches over me, which I am grateful for. She and Savera have all but moved in. Phyllis cooks me meals, buys me things I need, and basically makes sure I don't break down again. On the many days when I won't get out of bed, won't even move, she'll literally drag me onto the floor and force me to get up and eat. She seems to have taken it upon herself to be the mother I've lost. Though I know she'll never replace my mom, I still can't help but appreciate her attempts, and I know I'll never stop owing her.

Every once in a while, I'll feel like maybe I'm better, maybe things can be okay again. But then the memories wash over me in a violent flood that drowns out every positive thought I'm having. I think of different, random things; Wester and I rushing home together one day to give our mom some coins we'd found; my dad and I playing catch before he died; Aster and I kissing in the Meadow as the sun set; my entire family having a picnic to celebrate my mom's birthday.

We look at things like this, experiences, memories, as a given. Like it's our right as people, when in actuality, it's not. Things like these, happy family moments, can be knocked down, smashed into bits, never to be recovered again. I know; I learned it the hard way. I wish I'd taken advantage of that, spent more time with my mother and less time hanging out with my friends. I wish I'd helped Wester with homework instead of going to parties. I wish I'd told Aster how I really felt about her. But I didn't, and now it's too late. Too late to take back everything I did or didn't do.

The guilt and regret is still there, will always be there for me, but I've learned how to control it now. I didn't at first. At first, I let it consume me in waves of fiery heat until I was nothing but ashes, beaten and broken down. At one point I let it take over me so strongly that I almost destroyed everything. I remember the desperation, the fear, the panic, as I frantically tried to cut through the sensitive skin of my wrist on the couch. I just wanted to end it, wanted to kill myself and let all the sorrow be over. But then Phyllis had rushed into the room, snatched the knife away, and screamed at me for at least an hour about how I wasn't allowed to ever even _think_ about suicide. The message had apparently sunk in, because after that I did nothing to hurt myself, much to her relief.

I was worried for a long time about the upcoming Victory Tour, as well as seeing Snow again. I didn't know if I could handle the cameras and questions just yet. Sure, I've had reporters practically banging my front door down, but with those, I could just retreat to my bedroom and ignore them. On the Victory Tour, I'll be live and on television. I can't just go curl up in a ball and wish it at all away.

As for seeing Snow again, well, I think I can manage if I continually remind myself that I'm not allowed to kill him. It will definitely be hard to not damage the man in any way after the way he shattered my life to pieces, but I'm pretty sure I can calm myself down enough to handle it. It will take time, though; after all, it's only been three months since the Hunger Games. I have at least until the Victory Tour.

Ironic that right as I think this very thought, Phyllis walks into my room (where I'm resting on my bed), looking pale and clammy, and says to me, "Haymitch, you have a guest downstairs. You should go tend to him."

I look at her, confused, and without answering she quickly scurries out of the room. My eyebrows draw together in confusion, and after a short period of time I decided to head downstairs. I reach the living room and my stomach is immediately twisted in knots when I see the four armed Peacekeepers standing in my house. "Right through there, Mr. Abernathy," one says in a robotic voice. I quickly walk in the direction he's pointing, which turns out to be my large, formal dining room that never gets used. I reach the doorway and freeze in my tracks as I get my first glimpse at the "guest".

"Well, Mr. Abernathy, won't you please join me?" asks my visitor, President Coriolanus Snow.


	6. Defiance

My heart stops. I can't breathe. The only coherent thought I can form is, _What did I do? Why is he here? _It replays over and over in my mind.

Snow smiles sickeningly at me. "Won't you please sit?" he asks. I know it's not a mere suggestion, and I quickly take a seat several spots down from him. We look at each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking. The silence is overwhelming and I feel the need to say something, anything.

"Is there…is there something I can help you with?" I offer lamely. He simply smiles at me again, his cold eyes telling me he's not buying it.

"Why, yes, Mr. Abernathy, there is indeed '_something you can help me with,'_" he replies mockingly.

I look away in anger. This man had killed my family, my girlfriend, everybody I cared about, and now he has the audacity to come into my own home and make fun of me? I see red, and before I can think about my response I say, "And what is that? Helping you kill off more innocent people?"

Snow simply gazes at me, unsurprised. He doesn't even try to deny it. "That was of your own doing. Had you played by my rules, it wouldn't have happened. Your mother, brother, and the girl—what was her name, Alice?—were punished for your actions."

"Aster," I say sharply. "Her name was Aster."

Snow merely waves my comment off. "That's irrelevant. The point is, you cannot try to undermine my authority and expect to get away with it."

I grit my teeth and look away, fuming. I try to calm myself. Yes, I may be angry, and yes, I may loathe this man with all my heart, but I cannot forget the fact that he is the president of Panem, and he could have me killed if I say one wrong thing. And as far as I can tell, he is not adverse to murder.

"So, to get on with why I am here, which is not to hear you whining about your petty problems—," _Easy, Haymitch. Don't attack the man._ "I'd like to discuss some…business opportunities with you."

"Business opportunities?" I ask warily.

Snow nods. "You see, Mr. Abernathy, being a—pleasant-looking Victor such as yourself—and a young one at that—has made you quite popular among many Capitol citizens, particularly the women." He pauses to see if I understand what he's trying to say. I don't.

He frowns and continues. "Many suitors would pay generously to…have you for the evening. Now, something like this could make me—and you, for that matter—a lot of money. Do we have an understanding?"

I'm speechless as what Snow's saying sinks in. He wants me to—what? Sell myself to Capitol women? I have a vague recollection of another good looking Victor from a few years ago named Ennon who was rumored to have done that. I'd always brushed it off as being just that, a rumor, but now I'm not sure.

I swallow hard before I look Snow in the eyes with a steely gaze. "No." I say bravely.

Snow's eyes, which were cold before, now look absolutely deadly. "No?" he asks quietly. I nod, keeping our eyes locked.

"Mr. Abernathy," he begins, and I hear some of the anger he's feeling seep into his words. "You seem to be confused. You," his voice rises, "are nothing more than a naïve, powerless child. I am the president of the country. You cannot simply say '_no_' to me. Did you not learn your lesson when I executed your loved ones?"

"I won't do it. You can't make me." I snarl. Snow abruptly stands up, his chair slamming against the wall with a loud bang. I do my best to not flinch.

"I absolutely can make you do whatever I want, _Haymitch_," he sneers my name. I am shocked. This is the first time I've ever seen him lose his composure.

"How? You have nobody to hold against me anymore," I respond coolly.

"I could always execute you," he threatens. I just look at him.

"Fine. Go ahead. It's not like I have anything or anybody to live for," comes my icy reply.

Snow pauses for a moment. Then begins to open his mouth before closing it again. He seems lost for words. I know I've won. He has nothing to use against me now.

Snow finally makes a decision. He leans forward, hands clasped on the table. "I don't care how clever you think you are. Just know this: I will be watching you closely from now on. You've made a big mistake making an enemy of me."

He turns on his heel and strides briskly from the room. A moment later, the front door is slammed unnecessarily hard and all is silent once again.

**Three months later**

"Ow. That hurts." I whine loudly. Orinia just smiles and continues plucking at my eyebrows.

"Horrendous!" cries Cassius as he does something that tickles to my feet. "What have you done?!"

"Oh, relax," says Fuchsia. "Some soap and brushes and he'll look presentable enough." She smiles as if to comfort me, when really, I couldn't care less how my toes look.

I close my eyes and think about the Victory Tour that is beginning later today. I haven't seen Snow since that visit three months ago when he'd been so angry. I don't know how he'll react when speaking with me.

I'm also nervous about meeting other Victors. I'll be seeing them every year for a very long time, and I don't want to make a bad impression. Griffin has assured me I'll do fine, but I've never been what you'd call a social person.

My prep team finishes working on me and I'm quickly dressed in a plain outfit given to me by Vinnus. Orinia marvels over me and forces me to look in the mirror. I look pretty good. My face and hair is neat, and my clothes don't have a wrinkle in sight. I thank them as they leave the room, reminding me that I need to be at the train station by four.

Once they're gone, I nervously fidget and adjust my clothes, not satisfied with my appearance. A single strand of hair falls in my face, and I brush it back. A pang of grief hits me as I remember that's just what mother would have done. I quickly try to turn my thoughts around before I break down. The last thing I need is red-rimmed eyes when reporters are taking pictures and videos of me.

Instead I think about the luxurious food waiting for me on the Capitol train; the breads, the stews, the sauces, the meats. My mouth is watering by the time three forty rolls around, and I race out the door, realizing I'm late. Blinding flashes of light attack my eyes the minute I step foot outside, but I ignore them, heading towards the train station.

Once I reach it, the number of shouts and camera lights increase sharply. I just grin and wave, entertaining the Capitol reporters. I don't know how many minutes pass before the train pulls up and I feel Veronia delicately grab my wrist and guide me onto it. I keep up my happy charade until the train door closes, then my usual scowl falls back into place.

I blink, adjusting to the dim lights. I see Griffin already watching the huge flat-screen TV. "It's about time you showed up," he snaps. Despite my worry, I can't help but smile a little. I'm finally on my way.


	7. Drinking

We reach District 11 the next afternoon. I am awed by the seemingly endless space; District 12 is tiny compared to here. Vast fields of trees and bushes spread out in every direction, and I see many workers harvesting crops. _Agriculture, that's it_, I remember. _They make a living from agriculture in District 11._

We exitthe train, Veronia chattering excitedly about how pretty it is here. And she's right, for once. Surrounded by green trees and plants, District 11 is certainly a sight. Our group quickly finds out that we're only having lunch and a ceremony; they can't afford to have people not working for an entire day. We enter their Justice Building, which is only in slightly better condition than District 12's.

Veronia, Griffin, and I are herded into a formal dining room. It has an ornate table made of dark wood that's been polished and set with plates. I, once again, am amazed by the food; turkey that is so tender it looks like it could melt in your mouth, brightly colored greens creating an almost festive look, hot steaming mugs of cocoa, cider, tea…the possibilities are endless, and I have to quickly change my train of thought when I realize I'm visibly drooling. I wipe my mouth and we sit down just as District 11's mayor comes in. His name is Mayor Harlam, I recall. Harlam is dark skinned, just like the rest of District 11's citizens. He's slightly bigger than most, no doubt due to the abundance of food he seems to have. He gives us a thin smile when he comes in, and I rise to shake his hand.

"Haymitch Abernathy," Harlam says, seemingly deep in thought. "The second Victor of District 12, correct?"

"That's right, sir," I tell him. He nods in satisfaction and we sit down to begin eating. Not much conversation goes on as we all gorge ourselves on rich soup, fluffy bread, and chocolate mousse. The Avox servers continually refill our plates and glasses, and pretty soon I feel too sick to go on. "You finished eating, Haymitch?" Griffin asks me, eyeing my half full plate. I nod, probably looking very green.

Soon after, Veronia, Griffin, and Harlam all finish their meals and it's time for the ceremony. My palms are sweaty with anxiety and Veronia tells me that it'll be fine and I need to relax. I draw in a deep breath and try to take her advice.

I pace outside the door of the stage where the mayor is currently introducing me. I hear my name, and knowing that it's my cue, head out. A polite applause greets me. It's so different from the lights and screams of the Capitol.

The ceremony begins with the usual speech from the mayor. He congratulates me on my victory, talks about the "generosity of the Capitol, letting me be here today", and a whole lot of other things that make me gag. I try to tune him out when he talks about District 11's tributes and how they "honored their district". It makes me sick, and apparently I'm not the only one. Harlam's voice catches when he says that, and I understand his disgust with the speech the Capitol wrote for him. It's full of lies, pretending that the Capitol is forgiving and kind, which, of course, couldn't be further from the truth.

I'm standing behind a podium next to Harlam this whole time, watching the crowd's reaction to the speech. Most people look indifferent; they've heard it all before. But I notice a few angry faces in the crowd. One is a man standing slightly further to left than everyone else, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Another is a woman holding a young child. She glares at the Peacekeeper standing near her.

The last one is directly in front of the stage, in the area where the families of the dead tributes sit.

The boy is maybe thirteen or fourteen, and he's with his parents. He closely resembles his brother, whose name was Caden or Cador or something. I don't remember; I never spoke to him.

The boy glares at me with hate-filled eyes, while his parents couldn't be more oblivious as they sit there and cry quietly. I look at this family; the son that will be angry for the rest of his life, the parents who will never forget their lost child.

Finally, I look at the three other families sitting in front. It's something I've avoided this whole time. I didn't want to see the pain that I caused. But I need to.

One area has only a man and woman. They are glassy-eyed and appear not to hear a word of what's going on. I remember that they had a little girl named Ceeri.

The next area has a man and at least five children clinging to him, all sobbing uncontrollably. I lock eyes with him, and all I see is sorrow and bitterness. His expression is accusing, and I lower my gaze, ashamed.

The last family I see is the most troubling. A mother and two little girls who look to be about seven and ten are sitting down quietly and calmly. They're stiff, unmoving, as they stare attentively at the mayor while he drones on and on. None of them so much as cough. I look into their eyes and find out why. I see nothing, no emotion, no feelings of regret or pain in their faces. They're just empty. Broken. And I'm such a horrible person that I can't even remember who they've lost.

I have to blink away tears at this. I never thought of that before. That pain I'd gone through when I lost my family? My living had ensured that forty-seven other families felt that way. It's at times like this that I wish I was dead; when the guilt slowly eats away at me, getting past my protective barriers I'd so carefully constructed.

Mayor Harlam's speech finally comes to an end, and I read a quick, emotionless paragraph that I didn't write on how I respect their children's efforts, trying to not look at the dead tributes' families. Thankfully it's over soon and a quiet applause rings out as flee from the stage, carrying my plaque I'd gotten early on in the ceremony.

Veronia meets me in the Justice Building, going on and on about how good I did. Griffin stands beside her and says nothing, simply looking around as if he's studying the place. When Veronia's done praising me the three of us head towards the train station, where we will embark for District 1. Once there, however, I see black smoke coming from the train, and a lot of it. A uniformed Peacekeeper tells us that there's a problem with it and we'll have to wait around a couple of hours for it to be fixed. Veronia immediately heads off to who-knows-where, and Griffin plops down on the ground, having nowhere else to go.

I would stick around the station, but not wanting to deal with Griffin, I wander off into the Justice Building. A Peacekeeper tells me to stay in the main hall where the public is allowed, so naturally I go find an isolated room marked No Entry to hang out in.

As I'm opening the door I hear someone clearing their throat behind me. I whip around, expecting to find a Peacekeeper or even the mayor come to punish me for being in a restricted area. But no, instead I find a familiar looking teenage boy. He appears to be a couple of years older than me, and he has scruffy, unkempt black hair that he keeps pushing away from his eyes. He wears fairly nice clothes for living in a poor district, which surprises me.

"You're not supposed to be back here," he states matter-of-factly, carelessly flicking his bangs out of his face.

"Yeah, well, you probably aren't either," I say snidely.

The boy looks me over, and to my surprise, he laughs. "Got that right. I'm hiding from my mentor. She wants me to do some stupid interview. I figure if I ditched, she'd forget about it soon enough," he grins, extending his hand. "I'm Chaff. And you are?"

"Haymitch," I shake his hand, realizing why he's familiar. Chaff was a Victor a couple years ago, and I was right about his age. He's eighteen, last I heard.

"Ah, District 12's newest Victor," he snorts. "I like you. You're the only one around here who doesn't give me speeches on being nicer and less 'smart-mouthy', as Beatrice says," Chaff smirks.

I guess that Beatrice is either his mentor or escort. "I'm always being told the same thing," I respond, happy to have met someone with the same problem as me. Misery loves its company, after all.

"Sucks, don't it?" Chaff asks, and I nod. He grins mischievously and glances around, making sure we're alone before speaking. "Hey, I snuck some alcohol from my old man. Want a drink?" he holds out a bag containing several bottles of whiskey that I hadn't noticed he had until now.

I'm shocked, and I shake my head. I've never had liquor before in my life, and I don't intend to start drinking now. "Aw, come on," Chaff protests. "You ever been drunk before?"

I shake my head again, and he laughs. "Just try it," he insists. I hesitate this time, but still decline it.

"Fine. Suit yourself," Chaff pops one of the bottles open and takes a sip.

I watch him warily for a moment, and then ask, "Why do you drink in the first place?"

He looks at me gravely. "It helps to just forget about things. You know, get rid of the pain for a little while."

I understand why Chaff drinks now. It helps to ease the horrible memories of the arena. Maybe even keeps the nightmares away. Suddenly the whiskey bottles look a whole lot less pointless and a whole lot more tempting. I have an internal battle inside for a moment before the side wanting to forget about my family and Aster and President Snow wins.

"Give me some," I demand. Chaff smirks at me before handing me a few bottles. I look questioningly at him.

"It's all yours. Drink however much of it you want," he explains.

So I do.


	8. Friends

I blink my eyes open. A light is directly above me, and I moan as my head begins to pound. My eyes snap shut again and I roll over on my side, curling myself into a ball.

"You see?" I hear Veronia's shrill voice next to me. "_This_ is what happens when you do what you're not supposed to!"

The sound makes my head hurt even more, and I try to wave her away, needing peace and quiet, but she won't budge.

"Underage drinking is no small matter, Haymitch," she begins, and suddenly the memories come flooding back to me. District 11. _Chaff_. He'd given me several bottles of whiskey to drink. I'd tentatively drunk the first one, and after discovering it was almost pleasant once you got past the taste, chugged the second one easily. By the third I was loopy and had no idea what I was doing, which, now that I think of it, is probably how I managed to drink the entire third bottle. After that, all I remember is darkness. Apparently I'd passed out. Oops.

"Do you understand? You could die. _Die_, Haymitch." Veronia goes on, barely pausing for breath. I moan loudly, hoping she'll get the message to go away. Sadly, she doesn't.

I don't know how many different diseases you can get from excessive amounts of alcohol Veronia has described to me in great detail by the time Griffin comes into the room, telling Veronia that I've got the message and she can go now. She huffs, irritated, and scurries off. Griffin pulls up a chair next to the couch I'm sprawled on.

"Look, kid," he begins. "I don't know why you did what you did back there in 11, but you can't pull stuff like that anymore. Once, because it took us forever to find you, and two, it's just stupid. You don't need to be an alcoholic when you're sixteen."

"It wasn't even that much whiskey," I defend.

"We had to have Peacekeepers drag your unconscious body onto the train after an hour of searching for you!" he snaps angrily.

"Oh, so I get a little drunk, and now suddenly you care about me?" I ask. My words are slightly slurred due to my hangover.

Griffin sighs in exasperation. "I'm just trying to help you, but if you're going to ignore my advice, then forget about it." And with that, he storms out of my train compartment, slamming the door behind him.

.0

The next several days are mostly uneventful. I don't drink again (thank goodness). We visit Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4. Unlike the District 11 citizens, the people attending the ceremonies in the Career districts all look mean and vicious. They glare openly at me, letting me know just how much they hate me. I don't befriend any Victors, although I do make an enemy of one.

I was getting a plateful of food at a banquet in District 1, trying to avoid all the people wanting to talk to me. It was working pretty well until a guy approached. He had scruffy blonde hair and icy blue eyes that looked cold and calculating. He was clearly a Victor, in his newly washed and ironed suit that must've cost hundreds of dollars.

The guy gave me a once-over before sticking out his hand. "Septimus Creery," he said in a voice that oozed of arrogance.

"Haymitch Abernathy," I replied. I didn't miss the subtle attempt at him wiping off the hand I'd touched on his pants. Twenty seconds into our meeting, and I already didn't like this guy. He wasn't like Chaff. I'd taken an immediate liking to Chaff, and I still liked him, despite the issue with the alcohol. Something about him had seemed friendly, inviting, and well…_normal_.

Septimus, however, seemed bitter and unfriendly. He was the kind of person that you didn't just go talk to; he had to approach you. Which made me wonder why he was talking to me in the first place.

"Can I…um…help you with something?" I attempted. Septimus smirked at me in a condescending way that reminded me of Griffin.

"I just wanted to meet our newest Victor. I've heard rumors about District 12 and its citizens lacking social manners and being generally…uncivilized." He sized me up once again. "Looks as though they're true." He smiled at me, and I got the sense that it wasn't meant to be friendly. I narrowed my eyes. Who does this guy think he is, trashing District 12?

"Oh, really?" I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hadn't heard that. What I've heard is that we're known for our _modesty_." I emphasized the last word, hoping that he'd get the point.

It apparently worked, because Septimus's snide smile disappeared. "Pride and confidence is an important thing to have to be successful," he said defensively. "Not like you would know."

"Pride, arrogance…I suppose it's all the same to you thick-headed Careers." And with that, I smiled politely, picked up my plate, and walked away, Septimus glaring in anger after me.

Despite what Griffin says about that being a stupid move, I'm glad I stuck up for District 12. The look on Septimus's face when I walked away had been enough.

Anyway, not much else happens for a while. I have my ceremonies and banquets, and besides a few menacing glares from Careers, other Victors are pretty accepting of me. At least, of the ones I've met so far.

We've just left District 4, which I loved. Something about the sea and constant breeze was soothing. I could've sat on the beach staring at the gently lapping waves for hours, but unfortunately I had to board the train. I stood at the train's window until finally mountains blocked my view of the ocean and I was forced to go find something else to do.

.0

Veronia shakes me awake. "Haymitch! Get up!" I grumble something about being tired and roll over, shoving my face into my pillow.

"Haymitch!" Veronia is insistent. "We're in District 5. Out of bed!" She grabs my feet and yanks me onto the floor with surprising strength. I moan and Veronia calls something about being ready in twenty minutes over her shoulder as she exits my room.

Reluctantly I get up and dress. I brush my teeth and comb my hair before heading into the train's dining area, only to find that everyone's already eaten. I quickly shove a roll into my mouth as Veronia stresses over my hair. Finally it's time for us to disembark from the train.

We are escorted by Peacekeepers to the large ballroom where my celebration will take place. It is already full of people who clap loudly as I enter. I bow as Veronia told me to do before I'm immediately swept off by a group of giggling teenage girls who tell me I'm "cute". I'm about to pretend I have to use the bathroom or something to get away from them when all of sudden a guy shows up. I recognize this one. Rolynn Markson, the Victor of the 44th Hunger Games.

The group of girls immediately start giggling again at his sudden appearance. He simply rolls his eyes and leads me away from them. "Sorry about that," he grimaces.

"It's cool. Thanks, by the way." I say.

"Some of these District 5 girls can sure be—well, you just saw. Thank God I don't have to deal with that constantly," Rolynn grins.

"But don't you live here?" I ask, confused. He shakes his head.

"Nah. I'm from Eight. I'm just visiting a friend."

"Who-" I begin, but I'm cut off.

"That'd be me," a pleasant-sounding voice comes from behind me. Rolynn and I both turn around simultaneously to see a girl in maybe her early twenties. The girl has long, curly black hair and an almost exotic look to her face. She's wearing a silk green dress that really accents her emerald eyes. "This is Katri," Rolynn tells me.

"Hello there, Haymitch," Katri grins, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth, and I know her as yet another Victor. I nod in acknowledgement. She laughs.

"A nod? Surely you can do better than that! Come on, let's dance!" Katri grabs my hand and pulls me towards the dance floor as Rolynn laughs behind us, his shaggy brown hair falling in his face.

I'm stunned by this sudden turn of events. I've just met this girl, maybe ten seconds ago, and she's making me dance with her? Although I can't deny that it's fun. We're spinning, twirling around and I'm actually enjoying myself. Eventually Rolynn steps in and we all alternate partners. I'm shocked to find myself laughing. The three of us are being idiots, probably ruining my party, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but having fun with Rolynn and Katri. My new friends.


	9. Fighting

After quite a bit of protest I convince Griffin and Veronia to allow Rolynn to come on the Victory Tour with us. They finally relent after we compromise; we'll drop him off in District 8 once we get there.

I'm glad to have some company. Rolynn and I had hung out for a while when we'd finished dancing, and I'd really hit it off with him. I found out that he's twenty, funny, and insanely good with throwing knives. We've only known each other for a day and we're already really good friends.

As for Katri, well…I'm not sure where I stand with her. Sure, Katri's likeable; she made me laugh a lot and seems smart. But despite her cheerful exterior, there's something there just beneath the surface—something bad. Her smiles seem forced, and I see flickers of pain in her eyes at random times. I can't quite put my finger on the problem, though, and I'm afraid to ask.

I feel someone elbow my ribs. Not hard, but just enough to get my attention. I glance over at Rolynn, who gives me a questioning look before tilting his head slightly towards the group of Capitol reporters snapping pictures. I realize that my negative thoughts have completely wiped the smile from my face, and I quickly grin and wave for a couple of minutes before Veronia grabs Rolynn and I's wrists and tugs us onto the train. We collapse on a couch and stay there until the dots spotting our vision from the camera flashes disappear.

Rolynn breaks the silence. "Finally," he says. "I'm so tired of taking pictures!"

"Yeah," I mumble. "Me too."

He laughs. "As the newest Victor, I'm sure you are. Now come on. Let's go do something."

Rolynn and I spend a little while exploring the train, which I've never bothered to do. I find out the train has a living room, a dining room, six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a bar car, a movie room, a room with a foosball and ping-pong table, and a kitchen that we are quickly escorted out of by Avoxes.

Rolynn and I eventually hang out in the foosball/ping-pong room. We play some games, almost all of which I win. Rolynn starts groaning obnoxiously after a while, and I raise my eyebrows at him. "This is so boring," he complains.

"Hey, you wanted to come." I point out.

Rolynn sighs in defeat. "I'm just so bored!"

"Yeah, how do you think I've felt for almost a week?" I ask.

"Good point," he replies. We fall silent for a moment, and I decide this is a good moment to bring up something I've been wondering about for a while.

"What's wrong with Katri?" I question. Rolynn stares at me.

"What do you mean?" he asks cautiously. I shrug.

"I mean, she just seems…sad." I finish lamely, regretting bringing it up in the first place. Rolynn looks at me for a moment longer before he sighs and gives in, much to my relief.

"Katri was in the 42nd Hunger Games. She was—she was reaped along with her brother, Kernon." He pauses, and I wait anxiously for him to continue, a mixture of curiosity and dread building up inside of me. I'm not sure I want to hear this story now. Rolynn goes on.

"They teamed up immediately. They hid in caves and were mostly safe. The Careers didn't find them, and they were only bothered by mutts once." I see Rolynn is nervously wringing his hands together. "Katri and Kernon ended up being the last tributes standing. Kernon started talking about plans for what they could do to both get out. Katri didn't even bother listening to him; she just pulled out her knife and slit his throat, didn't even think about it." He says, and I think the story is over, but he continues. "Katri was only barely recovered when I met her, three years later. She still didn't talk very much, didn't eat. Doesn't even to this day. But when I became friends with her I think she felt—I don't know—less…alone. She tries to act normal, but clearly some people," he says, looking pointedly at me, "can see past it."

I don't talk for a moment; I have nothing to say. When I asked what was wrong with Katri, I didn't expect something so deep. It shocks me, and makes my hatred for the Capitol grow even more—which I didn't think was possible.

I think of how much grief my mom, brother, and girlfriend's deaths caused me. I can't even imagine what Katri had gone through, knowing that she and she alone had killed her brother.

_But_, a small part of my mind whispers, _your family's deaths were_ _accidental. She killed Kernon on purpose. _It is harsh, but true. My sympathy for Katri disappears immediately, replaced by anger.

"How did you not know this already?" asks Rolynn, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You were what, nine, when this went on?"

"Eight," I correct him. "And my mom didn't let us watch the Hunger Games."

Rolynn looks confused. "But it's mandatory viewing. You _have_ to watch it."

I shrug. "She watched it because she had to, but she'd turn the volume way down low and send us into another room. I watched for the first time when I was ten."

He is still giving me a strange look. "Is that legal?" he asks.

I grin. "Probably not."

0.0.0

We arrive in District 6 not long after Rolynn and I's conversation about Katri. District 6 looks like a giant workshop. There are big buildings with smoke coming out of the windows. Scrap metal litters the ground around half-finished trains and cars, and I see mechanics covered in grease. Factories with high-tech machines for making vehicle parts are everywhere.

"The transportation district," I smile as we scan the sight in front of us.

Rolynn does a stupid Capitol accent. "Making trains for Panem for over fifty years!"

I laugh and we head towards the building where we'll be having a banquet. Rolynn and I have already been dressed and made up. I feel like somebody else, like a stranger in my fancy tuxedo, dark blue tie, and makeup. It's not a good feeling, and I want to get rid of it.

We reach the Justice Building of District 6, which is none too extravagant, though it's still better than District 12's. Rolynn, Veronia, Griffin and I all step inside and are greeted by District 6's Mayor Dayson, a pudgy man with wild blonde hair that keeps nervously stammering, seemingly intimidated by the presence of three Victors. We keep our conversation with him short, not wanting to give him a heart attack or something.

All of us kind of mill around for half an hour or so before a trio of Peacekeepers tells us the party is ready. "Let's go!" Veronia says excitedly as we step through a set of giant double doors into a large ballroom filled with the richest people in District 6.

The party is the same as usual; people snapping pictures of us, Rolynn and me trying to avoid anybody creepy-looking, and groups of women at least twice my age trying to be provocative, which kind of scares me. Nothing in District 6 stands out—until Ennon shows up.

I notice him the minute he enters the ballroom—how could I not, with his electric blue hair, tattoos covering his arms completely, and at least nine visible bodily piercings? He saunters into the room like he owns the place, and heads straight for Rolynn and me. Rolynn is busily talking to some middle-aged guy about the best hair products to buy—why, I don't know, and I don't want to find out—and I nudge him and point to the strange blue-haired guy. Rolynn quickly tells the middle-aged man that he'll see him later and pulls me into a corner.

"Who is that?" I whisper, craning my neck to see Blue Hair.

"Ennon Carwitt," Rolynn hisses. "The Capitol's arrogant, self-centered, rude little _whore_."

I am shocked at the malice in his voice. Rolynn doesn't get mad easily. What'd Ennon do to him? I suddenly remember that Ennon works for Snow, selling himself to women. Maybe that has something to do with it.

Ennon comes over to us, grinning in a way that clearly states that he thinks he's the best thing to ever exist.

"Rolynn Markson, how nice to see you," he says in a tone that suggests it is not nice to see him at all. He is standing a few feet away from us now.

"Ennon." Rolynn sneers viciously. "Why don't I take my foot and stick it up your—" I clamp my hand over his mouth, bewildered. He tugs it away and glares at me.

"Hmm, and you must be Haymitch Abernathy. From District 12, correct?" Ennon asks, sticking out his hand for me to shake. I hesitate before gingerly shaking it and nodding. Ennon smiles in a sickeningly pleasant way at me.

"How nice. I've been to 12, you know. It's refreshing to see such a simple way of living—you know, without technology or unnatural body enhancements," he says, ironically, due to his hair and skin. I'm not sure what to make of this. He isn't like Septimus; he hasn't said anything downright insulting. If anything, it's Rolynn that's being unnecessarily vicious. At least, that's what I think until I hear the next thing he says.

"Yes, it's a nice break. You all look like filthy, particularly dense cavemen that can't even tie their own shoes," he says, and turns to walk away. I'm about to come up with a rude comments when he turns around and literally _spits in my face_.

The last thing I register is a loud crack as my fist connects with his nose.


	10. Arrested

I shift uncomfortably, trying to get the Peacekeeper to loosen his grip on my wrist.

"Be still!" he barks angrily, and I roll my eyes. Does he have to scream all the time? I wish he'd just shut up; he's been yelling for ten minutes by now, and I'm sick of it.

I'm about to say this out loud when I catch Veronia's eye. She gives me a subtle shake of her head, telling me to be quiet. Despite my urge to let out all my pent up anger on this Peacekeeper, I know she's right, so I say nothing.

Rolynn, Veronia, Griffin, and I are sitting in a small, bare room in District 6's Justice Building. There is no furniture, and the walls and floor are a dull gray. The only door is locked from the outside. And to make it worse, two Peacekeepers have Rolynn and I handcuffed and pinned against the wall, while another watches Veronia and Griffin closely. Yeah, as if we'll try to escape.

To be honest, this is probably my fault. After I'd lost control at the banquet and started punching Ennon, Rolynn had joined in and we'd beaten the life out of him. I don't know how badly we hurt him, but he was no match for us according to the dried blood all over my shirt.

I assumed no one would care he'd gotten beaten up. Little did I know that Ennon's father was the Head Peacekeeper of District 6; a powerful man that apparently didn't like people beating his son. Long story short: Ennon reported us, Rolynn and I had been shoved into a wall during the party, handcuffed, hit multiple times, dragged to a different part of the Justice Building, and shoved into what was basically a jail cell to anxiously await our punishment, whatever it may be. We've been in this hot, small room for at least two hours, if not more.

Right now Rolynn and I are standing here, unable to move. Veronia is fidgeting nervously with the hem of her skirt, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, and Griffin is distastefully scraping dirt off the bottom of his shoe with his fingernail (all of our weapons were taken, including his knife) while a Peacekeeper stares at him with a disgusted look. I really am not sure why the two of them are here; maybe it's because they're supposed to be responsible for us.

The Peacekeeper has yelled at me at least four more times by the time somebody finally comes into the room. Mayor Dayson.

"Um," he stammers, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Mr. Carwitt would like to see Mr. Markson and Mr. Abernathy immediately. Uh," he dabs his face again. "Along with the mentor and escort."

Griffin and I head out wordlessly. Veronia huffs and adjusts her skirt when she stands, and Rolynn shoots a Peacekeeper a smug look, which earns him a death glare.

We are escorted through many hallways of the Justice Building and eventually reach a big, double door made of heavy oak that is guarded by two Peacekeepers on either side. It has many ornate carvings in it, the most prominent being the seal of Panem etched directly in the center. The Peacekeeper leading us has to show an I.D. before the guards will open the door for him.

This cannot turn out well.

The oak double doors swing open ominously, making a slight creaking sound as they do.

"I want only Mr. Markson and Mr. Abernathy," a low voice calls from inside, and the Peacekeepers push Rolynn and me roughly into the room, slamming the door behind us.

Looking around, I see we're in a very nice office. The floor is made of carefully constructed wood planks that fit together without even the tiniest crack. The walls are a pale peach color, somewhere between orange and pink. All the furniture in the room is the same dark wood as the door, and it's all perfectly clean, not a stray paper or pencil in sight. A neatly woven oriental rug is lying on the floor in front of a large desk, behind which a man sits.

The man is probably in his mid-forties. He has brown eyes and close-cropped black hair with several streaks of gray in it. A name plate on the desk reads _Dallas Carwitt, HP6. _He's wearing a light gray suit with a black tie, and his expression is solemn.

"Do sit," Mr. Carwitt gestures to the two chairs in front of his massive desk. Rolynn and I scramble to get to our seats, nearly knocking each other over in the process.

When we're seated, the Head Peacekeeper leans back, arms crossed, and looks us over. He evidently doesn't like what he sees, as he snorts and shakes his head. I'm tempted to say something about it, but decide I should probably just keep my mouth shut for once; a wise decision.

"So," Carwitt begins. "You two beat up my son, Ennon, is that correct?"

I figure there's no use denying it and nod. Rolynn shoots me a nervous look, clearly wondering what he'll do to us, just as I am.

"Well, I must say that he had it coming." Carwitt says.

I think Rolynn and I simultaneously do a double take. He had it coming? What kind of father would say that about their own son, especially to the people that'd beaten him up?

Carwitt smiles as though he knows what I'm thinking. "Yes, I'm aware that that's not the most—orthodox, I suppose—thing to say. But I know what Ennon does, how he provokes people," he says. "I really don't blame you. I'll admit, even I've taken several swings at him over the years." Carwitt shrugs casually, and I hope that with his nonchalant attitude about it, he'll let us go.

"But," Carwitt begins, my hopes deflating. "I am the Head Peacekeeper of District 6," he gestures to his nametag that reads _HP6_, "And I simply cannot let you two go free with no consequences. It would make me look unprofessional."

"But, sir," Rolynn pleads. "Don't you think that—" he stops talking when Carwitt waves his hand, signaling him to stop.

"I don't really want to hear it, Markson. Your complaints will not change my decision." Carwitt says stiffly.

"What decision?" I ask, finally cutting into the conversation, my hands wringing together like they always do when I'm nervous.

Carwitt looks at me for the first time, his eyes narrowing before he speaks.

"A way to keep you from attacking more Victors," he says.

"What way?" asks Rolynn.

Carwitt smirks arrogantly, and I'm struck by how much he looks like his son when he does that. "You'll find out soon enough." At that, he calls for guards and several Peacekeepers file into the room, drag us out of the office and into the hallway, and slam the heavy oak door behind them.

Rolynn and I are handcuffed again, which makes my already sore wrists sting painfully. The Peacekeepers make a tight ring around us and lead us down many twisting and turning hallways. I don't know where we're going, and Dallas Carwitt's last words he spoke to us are stuck in my head. _You'll find out soon enough_. What does that mean?

My question is answered when we round a corner and see Veronia and Griffin standing there looking nervous next to four heavily armed Peacekeepers.

My brand new, personal guards.


	11. Pariah

"Quit looking at me," I snap angrily. My guard, Officer Douglas, doesn't even react. He just stands there watching me, no flickers of emotion betraying the stony mask he's had on ever since being put in charge of me. Officer Park, my other guard, does the same thing on the other side of my Victor's Village living room.

I sigh angrily and stand up to go to my kitchen. Douglas and Park simultaneously move to follow me. Douglas blocks the back door that is in the kitchen, while Park stands in the doorway leading to the living room.

I sigh angrily again, louder this time. It's been this way ever since I got home from my Victory Tour almost five months ago. No matter where I go and what I do, my guards follow. I'm surprised they don't go into the bathroom with me.

I haven't seen anyone since I got home, other than Veronia dropping by once to check on me. As soon as she saw my guards, she left, and hasn't been back since.

I've been dying of loneliness and have wanted to talk to Rolynn, but apparently my guards have special orders to keep me from talking to him in particular. It makes me so angry. It's been _five months_. Doesn't Dallas Carwitt think I've had enough punishment?

Apparently not.

* * *

A week and a half later, a miracle occurs. My guards get called back to District 6. Apparently some guy hit on Ennon's sister Lanie, a pretty blonde girl that I've only ever seen on TV, and her dad isn't very happy about it. So now my guards have a new unfortunate victim.

I couldn't be more excited. I've been desperate for some company; so desperate that I'm going to go looking for Griffin.

As soon as Douglas and Park leave, I race out my front door and across Victor's Village towards my mentor's house. I throw open his door, not bothering to knock, and call out his name.

"Griffin?" I yell. There's no response, and I call his name louder. Still nothing.

After checking the house, I assume that he's out somewhere, doing—well, whatever it is that unhelpful, discouraging mentors do. Sighing, I head outside towards the Seam part of 12 where my friend Rilus lives.

I haven't even seen Rilus in almost a year, but at this point I crave talking to somebody I know so much that I choose to ignore that fact as I trek through District 12. I reach his house after getting several strange looks from people walking, probably because no one's seen me out and about in months.

I ring his doorbell and stand back. After a moment, I hear his little sister Kinny call "I'll get it!" before the door flies open and the six-year-old girl stands there.

"Hi!" Kinny says, waving with her chubby hand. I smile and wave back before asking if her big brother is home.

"Ri!" she yells, unable to pronounce his full name, and I hear his voice shout "I'm coming!"

Kinny toddles off, presumably to play with some of the dolls I can see scattered all over the floor. It makes me ache for Wester. He always left his things lying all over the house. I start breathing hard and can feel a meltdown coming on when suddenly Rilus appears in the doorway. I pull myself together and look at him. I find myself surprised that he looks the exact same as he did a year ago; short black hair, torn up pants, the scar on his forehead from when he fell out of a tree. It somehow seems as though he should be different, changed; after all, so much has happened since we last encountered one another.

_So much has happened to __**you**__, _a small voice in the back of my head whispers. _Everybody else has moved on. You're the only one that's changed._

I tell it to shut up.

"Hey, Rilus," I greet him just as I would've when we were fifteen.

I'm surprised at the coldness in his voice when he responds. "Haymitch," he nods his head formally, a calculating look in his grey eyes.

"Can I—come in? I want to talk to you." I say, swallowing nervously. I'm not quite sure what's going on, but something's seriously wrong here.

"Actually," Rilus says, smirking slightly. "I've already got plans."

I give him a once-over. It is clear that he has nowhere to be, based on his old clothes and bored appearance. I know he's lying to me, and he knows that I know it. Saying nothing, he slams the door in my face.

* * *

I stumble away from my ex-friend's house. _Maybe it's just him_, I tell myself. _Carr was always a better friend anyways._

I walk all the way across the district to the merchant quarter, where Carr lives. I reach his house and knock on his door. His mother answers.

"We don't want to buy any of your stupid—" she begins, but then realizes it's me. Her eyes widen. "Oh, uh, hello there, Haymitch," she stammers. "Carr! Your friend's here!"

Without leaving me a chance to say anything, she scurries off and Carr comes to the door. "Oh, Haymitch!" he says when he sees me. "I didn't realize that you were—out again."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "Well, I am, and I thought we might hang out. If that's okay with you?"

The question hangs in the air, and you can practically taste the tension as Carr has a poorly disguised internal battle. He finally nods. "Yeah, sure, come on in."

I obey and step through the front door, wondering why I even came here. I wasn't craving Carr's company, nor did I want to embarrass him by putting him on the spot. I have no more time to think about this, as Carr offers me a drink, which I accept even though I actually don't want one.

We sit awkwardly at his kitchen table, drinking some thin tea made of boiled water and herbs. I try to start conversations several times, but Carr quickly ends them with some negative comment.

I don't know how long I'm over there, trying desperately to reach out to my once best friend, trying to get him to see that I need somebody to talk to, before everything goes completely downhill in a matter of seconds. I've just asked Carr how school has been when suddenly he slams his tea cup down on the table, sloshing the hot liquid everywhere, and glares at me.

"Just get out, Haymitch," he snaps.

I'm taken aback. "_What_?" "Get out of my house. I don't see the point of this. You keep trying to act like everything's the same as it was before you became a Victor, but it's just _not. _You clearly don't want to be here, and I don't want you here, so just go. Just _get out_ and don't ever bother me again."

I don't respond for a moment, too shocked to even move, and Carr angrily grabs my arm and hauls me out of the house. He shoves me roughly off the porch and onto the ground.

"Stay away," he warns before going back inside and slamming the door behind him.

It has started to rain, and I'm shivering from the cold as I run back to Victor's Village. A horrible sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I remember a time not too long ago when Dalea Bellwood had the same reaction to my visit. This makes me think of Aster, and for the first time in a long time, I start to cry. I am sobbing as I run through the water-slicked streets towards my house in Victor's Village. The realization has finally hit me that I have nobody—not a single person. My family is dead, my girlfriend is dead, my only friend is hundreds of miles away, and now District 12 doesn't like me.

I am a pariah.


	12. Interview

The next few days are spent with me hanging around my house, pitying myself about being all alone. My only consolation is the fact that the majority of the reporters are gone, so I can go out in public now without basically being assaulted—as if I'd want to leave my house anyways.

I have absolutely nothing to do—until Veronia drops by one Friday afternoon. I'm sitting on my couch, watching some stupid Capitol drama about an orphaned teenage girl trying to find her parents when my doorbell rings. I sigh, heave myself off the couch, and answer it.

"What do you want?" I ask irritably, not even looking to see who it is.

Veronia huffs indignantly. "I just thought I'd visit you, but if you're going to be rude…" she trails off.

"No, no, I'm sorry," I say, which is unlike me, really. Veronia is the only person I'll ever apologize to, maybe because she's always so nice to me. "Come in."

She obeys, stepping across the threshold carefully. She hesitates, as though unsure of something, and I raise an eyebrow at her. "Do you have anything to drink? I'm awfully thirsty." Veronia says.

"Sure. Any preferences?" I ask politely.

Her response is immediate. "Coffee."

I nod and head into the kitchen, where I prepare her drink. We casually chat about unimportant things for a while, and after a few minutes I can't help but begin to wonder why she's here. I mean, Veronia has stopped by my house many times in the past, but it's usually to greet me, tell me something, and then leave. Right now she keeps nervously twisting her hands together, and I can't help but get the feeling that she's purposely avoiding a topic. I don't bring it up, however; if it's that important I'll find out soon enough.

I give Veronia her coffee. "Thank you," she says and we sit down at the kitchen table. The silence seems to stretch on and on for a while before I finally get out: "So, how've you been lately?"

Veronia sips her coffee and shrugs. "Oh, you know, same old same old."

I internally groan. She didn't leave me much room to work with anything there, and now I'm not really sure what to say. Moments of silence have passed when Veronia suddenly speaks.

"It seems you've been coping well. You know, with your family being in that fire a year or so ago. Are things…okay?" she says slowly.

The pain is like a physical blow to my chest. Of course, I never actually _forget_ about my mom, or my brother, or Aster, but I'm usually able to push all thoughts of them into a deep place in my mind, where memories that will only make me sad can't resurface. It's almost like numbing the pain until I feel nothing. I know it's not supposed to be healthy, that I might be considered to be 'in denial', and I know that one day, every thought or memory I've ever had of any of them will suddenly appear in my head and the grief will be almost unbearable. I know that that could permanently damage me, and that I need to face my sorrows now.

At least, that's what Phyllis told me. And she is a healer—she must at least sort of know what she's talking about.

Another thing I noticed about Veronia's comment—a fire? Is that what Snow told people? That my family was killed in a fire? It isn't like I would know if he had. I was so out of it for the first few months after their deaths that I wouldn't know if a second rebellion had begun.

Still, the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. What, is President Snow too afraid to tell people the truth about what he does to innocent District citizens? The anger threatens to overwhelm me, and I start shaking my head.

"I'm sorry!" I suddenly hear Veronia cry. I realize it's been quite a while since she's spoken, and she seems to think my anger is directed at her.

"I'm sorry!" Veronia cries again, guilt seeping from her words. "I know that that's a tender subject and I shouldn't have brought it up but I did because I'm really really bad at delivering news that I think people don't want to hear and you started to look suspicious so I knew I needed to change the subject and that was the first thing I thought of!" she takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"Veronia…" I say, trying to tell her that it's all right, but she doesn't give me a chance to speak.

"I swear I wasn't trying to make you feel bad or anything because I'm not mean but I have to tell you something that I think you probably won't want to hear and I keep trying to stall just like I'm doing now—"

"Veronia…" I say again, attempting to get her to stop talking for five seconds.

"—but you need to know sooner or later and I'm afraid to tell you because I know you'll probably get scared or angry or worried or—"

"Veronia!" I yell, and she stops talking, looking nervously at me. "Just tell me what you have to say. I promise I won't be upset with you."

She twists her hands together and hesitates. I give her a pleading look and her shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine," she says. "You have an interview with Caesar Flickerman."

"Well, that's not so bad." I respond, confused as to why she was freaking out. "What's it about?"

Veronia sighs. "President Snow killing your family."

* * *

I shift in my chair, uncomfortable wearing a suit and tie. My face is covered in some powdery makeup that a woman I've never met before quickly smeared on. My shoes are too tight and my hair has some funny-smelling gel in it.

I cannot wait to get this over with.

The cameramen fiddle with their stands, moving them around putting them in different places in my living room. Reporters adjust the furniture, setting it up so it looks perfect. I hiss in pain when a woman carelessly steps on my foot with her five inch heels—again, I cannot wait to get this over with.

I wouldn't even be forced to do this if it weren't for some blabber mouth Capitol citizen. Apparently somebody close to Snow had—somehow—found out how my family had really died, that Snow had killed them. They'd told someone else, who'd told someone else, who'd told someone else…pretty soon that was the Capitol's newest big gossip.

As one could imagine, that did not please Snow. He denied it wholly, coming up with the excuse that they had died in a fire. But apparently people still had their doubts on what was true and what was a lie. Snow knew that he had to have his citizens' total trust, and he decided to get it by having me do an interview telling everybody that my family and Aster had died in fire. Which I, of course, am completely against. I'm lying to make Snow seem like the good guy in this situation; something I don't care about doing, and even less do I _want_ to.

But I will do it, because I don't really have any other choice. I don't need to get even more on the president's bad side—assuming that that's possible. So now I'm sitting here, way too dressed up in my living room, just waiting for the cameras to start rolling.

I sigh quietly, but apparently not quietly enough, as Caesar glances at me, concerned.

"Nervous?" he empathizes.

I nod. I am nervous, but not for the reason he thinks. This is much more than simple stage nerves.

Caesar smiles comfortingly at me. "Don't worry." He pats my hand. "They'll go away once the interview starts."

I nod again, letting him think that I'm all right, when in reality I'm not. I have to play my cards exactly right in this interview and if I don't, well, I don't even know how Snow will react.

* * *

"Five, four, three, two!" the cameraman points to Caesar and me.

"We are here today with the Hunger Games' newest Victor, Haymitch Abernathy!" Caesar says. "Now, I'm sure most of you have heard the rumors about Snow and Haymitch's family, as well as all the accusations being thrown around."

I notice he doesn't elaborate, so those who haven't the 'rumor' will have no idea what he's referring to.

"We are here today to talk to Haymitch about this. Are the accusations true or not? Haymitch?" Caesar turns to me, and I know exactly what I'm supposed to say:

_"Well, Caesar, the rumors are just that: rumors. Snow is a good man who would never do a thing like this. My mother, Wester, and Aster's deaths were simply an accident. They perished in a fire. Yes, it was tragic, but I know that fate was behind it, not President Snow. So all of you who blame him for this unfortunate tragedy that befell my family, just know that your president is an honorable man who doesn't kill innocent families, and that you can trust him implicitly. Thank you." _

Instead,my head starts to spin, my vision goes fuzzy, and I say: "It's true. Snow killed them. All of them."

The last thing I see before I black out is Caesar's incredulous face.


	13. Alone

**All right, so I know I haven't updated in a two months (yikes!), but in case you haven't seen the message I wrote on my profile about this, I thought I'd put it in this author's note as well. My laptop broke right after I updated Winning Isn't Everything in November. There was some problem with the screen and I couldn't see anything on the entire right half of it. But now I got a new laptop, so I'm just apologizing again to all of the readers of WIE—I know I left you guys with kind of a cliffhanger. Anyway, hopefully I'll have the epilogue to this story posted later today. So now I'll stop rambling and let you finally read chapter 13 of Winning Isn't Everything. Enjoy :)**

* * *

"_Happy anniversary," I smile and gently weave the flower into her hair. _

_Aster strokes the rose's petals. "I can't believe it's only been six months. I feel like I've known you forever." She sighs and leans against me as we stare up at the night sky. I wrap my arm around her and think about how perfect this is. Sitting on a picnic blanket, looking at the stars with the girl I love. _

_That last thought makes me swallow hard. It reminds me of why I dragged her to the Meadow in the middle of the night in the first place. I glance over at Aster, and her light blue eyes meet mine. Her forehead creases the way it does when she knows I'm keeping something from her. _

_"What is it, Haymitch?" she asks, sitting up straight and looking at me in a way that makes me know there's no way of getting out of this. When I don't immediately answer, she tilts my head up and forces me to meet her eyes. They demand an explanation._

_"I…I just…well," I stammer, not sure how to respond. I've never done this before, and I want to say it right the first time. I look at the ground, embarrassed, and I feel Aster's cool hand on my cheek. _

_"You can tell me anything, Haymitch," she says softly. That comment gives me the courage to meet her gaze. I take her hand in mine and suck in a deep breath. _

_"Aster," I say. I tuck a strand of her loose blonde hair behind her ear and smile nervously at her. "I love you." _

_She doesn't say anything for a minute, only stares at me. I can't read the expression in her eyes. Happiness? Anger? Regret? Pain? I've decided to deny the whole thing, claim I was just joking and that I don't feel that strongly about her when she suddenly leans forward and kisses me. I eagerly return it, wrapping my arms around her tightly._

_Aster is the one to break away first. She pulls back, grinning, and gives me one more gentle kiss on the lips before saying, "I love you too, Haymitch." _

The pain is like a blow. I keel over, gasping, tears running down my face. The flashback reminds me of exactly what Snow has taken away from me. A lifetime full of happiness and children and 'I love yous' from the girl who might've become my wife. Aster Bellwood, with her blonde curls and gorgeous blue eyes. Aster, who hiccupped when she laughed too hard. Aster, who was always sweet and loving but at the same time would smack you across the face if you disrespected her.

Aster, who I loved.

The tears don't stop coming for a long time. I lie on the floor, sobbing, my palms pressed against the cool wood. My head begins aching and my throat is hoarse due to the tortured sounds coming from it, but I just keep crying.

Images of Aster and I dance behind my shut eyelids. Our first date window shopping in the town square; a dinner with her family that was made awkward by her father, who wouldn't stop drilling me; attempting to play basketball with her brother Mavis while she laughed on the sidelines. All this and more swims through my mind, making me ache with grief.

Next comes memories of my mom and Wester. I think of the time we all took a walk downtown during the Harvest Festival season and looked at decorations, the time my mother and I went to Wester's kindergarten graduation.

They're all dead now, and it's my fault.

"My fault," I whisper, choking on hot tears. "It's all my fault."

I lie there on the ground in silence, mourning for my lost loved ones. After a few minutes I decide I need to pull myself together, so I shakily get up and wipe my tears.

Only now do I remember the interview.

My breath catches in my throat as I remember my public admittance that Snow killed my family. I don't know how he reacted. I passed out in my living room…where am I now?

I glance around and see that I'm in my bedroom in my Victor's Village house. I'm alone, and I can't hear any noise. How long has it been? Where did Caesar and the camera crew go? Most importantly, what has Snow done about it?

I go out into the hallway and down the stairs. I hear no noise. When I go into the living room, I see that everything is as it usually is. There are no signs of the interview that took place. This worries me. I wouldn't have been surprised if there were fifteen armed Peacekeepers just waiting for me to appear so they could lunge. I wouldn't have even been surprised if Snow himself were sitting on my couch waiting to talk to me. But this…this _nothing_, it's driving me crazy.

I decide to talk to Griffin. Surely he knows what's going on. Pulling on a pair of boots, I stumble out my front door and across the lawn of my Victor's Village house. When I reach Griffin's place, I see that his front door is wide open. Trembling with fear, I step into his house.

Blood. It's everywhere.

The carpet, the curtains, the walls, everything—it's all covered in blood. Big puddles cover the floor in some areas, while tiny splotches of it dot the walls in others. I can only imagine how much and how hard someone had to have been beaten for it to get in all the places.

I feel sick.

As I walk further into the house, I notice something. There's a scrap of paper lying on the table next to the couch. Normally I wouldn't have noticed this, but this isn't regular paper. It's the thick tan kind that's rolled up like a scroll and tied with a string. Capitol paper.

With shaking hands, I pick it up and begin to read.

_Dear Mr. Abernathy, I thought you were smart enough to realize by now that if you didn't play by my rules you'd be punished. Apparently not. _

_I sent Mr. Flickerman to your house so you could assure my people that the 'rumors' going around were false. Because you didn't do so—quite the opposite, actually—I saw it fit to teach you a lesson. Remember your dear mentor, Mr. Griffin Reamus? Yes, he put up quite a fight against my Peacekeepers, I do recall—to no avail, of course. They quickly overpowered him. Although, if you are indeed reading this I suppose you must only look around to see this. _

_Anyway, Mr. Abernathy, I realized of late that threatening your life was not enough. You simply didn't care, for reasons I quite frankly don't understand. So I decided that if you were going to live, you may as well live alone. Having nobody will certainly make for a horrible life, one that you deserve, might I add. All you had to do was follow the rules, but you chose not to. So you'll be forever by yourself… _

_Not understanding quite yet? Don't worry, Mr. Abernathy. You'll find out what I mean in time. _

_President Coriolanus Snow_

I drop the letter, fall to my knees, and scream.

* * *

Fifteen people. I am responsible for the deaths of fifteen innocent people.

Over the following weeks, as Snow said, I slowly understand what had happened. The interview had not been aired, of course. They deleted all the footage as soon as I blacked out. But Snow was afraid I'd do the same thing again at some point. Say something I'm not supposed to, ruin him somehow, I don't know. So he came up with a simple plan. Kill everybody I might associate with. Anybody that I was friends or even acquaintances with, he sent Peacekeepers after. He theorized that it might break me enough that I'd stop caring about anything, thus not caring about being defiant against the Capitol. He was right.

As the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, I slowly find out who I am responsible for the deaths of. I make a list. There is my mother, Wester, Aster, Griffin, Veronia, Phyllis, Savera, Rolynn, Katri, Carr, Rilus, Vinnus, and even my stupid, giggling prep team of Orinia, Fuchsia, and Cassius. They were all killed.

He left out Chaff, which surprises me. Although I suppose there's no way he could have known about our encounter—Veronia had tried to keep it secret. She didn't want people to know about my drinking.

As the months pass, I get lonelier and lonelier. Snow was very effective in his murders—I have absolutely nobody to talk to. I stay locked up in my house in Victor's Village and try to not think about what I've done. Eventually I realize that drinking gets rid of my bad emotions. I start buying bottles from the Hob, a black market downtown. The shopkeeper looks at me disapprovingly—after all, I'm only seventeen—but still sells to me. I begin drowning myself in liquor. I know it's not healthy, and I keep telling myself I'll stop soon.

I never do.


End file.
